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No time to read?
Let the words hold you gently, spoken for wherever you are.

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Mother’s Day brings out images of flowers, smiling women, and family celebrations. But for many, it’s not a day of ease. For some daughters—and for some mothers—it’s a day filled with silence, grief, guilt, confusion, and a longing that can’t be easily named.

There are daughters who ache for mothers they don’t speak to.
There are mothers grieving children who won’t return their calls.
There are wounds between generations that haven’t been acknowledged, let alone healed.

This Mother’s Day, we honor not just the beauty of motherhood, but also the pain, the complexity, and the invisible threads that still connect us—even when we’re apart.

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When a Mother Isn’t What You Needed

Not every woman who gives birth knows how to be a mother. Some weren’t shown how to nurture. Some were hardened by life. Some never felt safe enough to be soft. And some carried so much pain from their own mothers that they passed it forward without realizing it.

There are daughters—like many of us—who didn’t receive the love we needed, who were hurt instead of held. And we carry that into our adulthood, especially on days like this, (Learn more about The Mother Wound and how it silently shapes our sense of self.) when the world tells us we should be grateful, no matter the story.

But some stories were written in survival. Some homes weren’t safe. And some “mothers” caused the very wounds we’re still learning to heal.

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What We Don’t See About the Mothers

Still, there’s another truth we often forget to look at:
Some mothers were never given the tools to become what we needed them to be.

Some were silenced.
Some were shamed.
Some were survivors, never taught how to give softness, because they were never shown it themselves.

Some know the harm they caused.
Some don’t.
Some carry guilt but don’t know how to apologize.
Some are too wounded to even look back.

And some mothers—just like their daughters—are healing, slowly and painfully.
They’re learning how to show up in new ways.
They’re mourning what they didn’t know, and trying to make peace with who they were.

(For deeper healing around mother wounds, check out Jennifer Arnise’s “The Black Mother Wound” podcast.)

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When There’s Distance That Still Hurts

Estrangement isn’t always a dramatic break. Sometimes it’s a quiet drifting.
Other times, it’s the necessary boundary we wish we didn’t have to hold.

There are daughters grieving mothers who are still alive.
There are mothers aching for daughters they don’t know how to reach.
And neither side knows what to do with the silence.

On Mother’s Day, that silence can feel deafening. (This is a form of Ambiguous Loss—grieving someone who is still alive.)

So instead of pretending it doesn’t exist, we honor it.
We acknowledge that this day holds space for both joy and sorrow, connection and loss.

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Forgiveness Without Reconnection

To forgive doesn’t always mean to invite someone back in.
Sometimes it simply means releasing the grip of resentment.
Letting go of the wish that the past could’ve been different.
Allowing compassion—for yourself, and maybe even for them—to soften what bitterness hardened.

Forgiveness can be quiet.
It can be private. (Learn more about What Forgiveness Truly Means from a psychological and emotional perspective.)
It can be just for you.
And it can be the beginning of your own freedom.

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This Mother’s Day

This Mother’s Day, I honor both the hurt and the healing.

I honor the daughters still grieving, still searching, still becoming the mothers they needed.
I honor the mothers who couldn’t give what they didn’t have.
I honor the ones doing the work now, and the ones who never could.
I honor the distance, the silence, the ache, and the growth.
Because all of it is real.
All of it matters.
And somewhere between the pain and the possibility… is the truth.

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💐 Dedication

For the daughters still grieving a living mother.
For the mothers still grieving the daughters they lost to silence, time, or pain.
For those learning, unlearning, hurting, and healing.
For those doing the best they can—whether that means reaching out, letting go, or simply surviving another Mother’s Day.

May we find peace in our own pace, and love in forms we’ve never known before.

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With grace, grit, and a love that refuses to quit,
Keep showing up—even when it feels like no one’s watching.
Your presence is powerful. Your love is building something they’ll one day thank you for.

From one daughter breaking the silence to another—
With strength and softness,
~ Juju Divine Empress
Founder, JBE Mindful Pathways
Wellness Advocate | Writer | Mother | Still Learning, Always Loving 

Looking for more reflections like this one? 🕊️ Explore more stories from the path.

By Juju Divine Empress

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There’s no manual for parenting teenagers—especially not in 2025. The world our kids are growing up in barely resembles the one we knew. They’re navigating a reality filtered through screens, shaped by rapid information, and weighed down by pressures many of us didn’t face until adulthood—if ever. And as a parent, you’re left standing somewhere between love and helplessness, doing your best to hold on to your child without holding too tight.

Some days, you’re their safe place. Other days, you’re the one they push away. But through it all, you stay. And that matters more than they know.

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They Speak a New Language (And It’s Not Just Slang)

They say “I’m fine” while everything in their body says otherwise. They laugh through stress, joke through pain, and spend hours scrolling, double-tapping, and watching other people’s lives while quietly questioning their own. (Impact of social media on teen self-esteem) Their silence isn’t emptiness—it’s exhaustion. It’s overstimulation. (What overstimulation looks like in teens) It’s learned detachment.

You ask how their day was and they shrug. You try to give them advice and they roll their eyes. But behind those reactions is someone begging to feel seen—even if they don’t know how to show it.

It’s not just slang or mood swings. It’s emotional burnout. And in a world where they’re expected to grow up fast, process trauma in real time, and never show weakness, they’re simply surviving the best way they know how. Your presence, even when met with resistance, is a lifeline.

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The Push-Pull of Parenting Today

One day they want your help. The next, they want distance. One moment they cling to you, the next they snap. You offer wisdom, they say you “don’t get it.” You back off, they say you “don’t care.”

You’re parenting through mixed signals, mood swings, and moments where you question if you’re doing anything right. It’s hard. It’s confusing. And it’s deeply emotional. You want to protect them from the world—but also teach them how to navigate it. You want to be close—but not invasive. You want to discipline—but not damage.

This balancing act? It’s exhausting. Especially when you’re trying to break generational cycles, (Breaking toxic parenting patterns) manage your own emotions, and parent with more tenderness than you received.

But if you’re showing up, you’re already doing more than enough.

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You’re Not Failing—You’re Feeling

If you’ve ever cried in your car, questioned your worth, or wondered if you’re a good parent—you’re not failing. You’re feeling. You’re loving. You’re invested. And that’s the opposite of failure.

We don’t talk enough about how lonely parenting teens can be. There’s no more cute milestones to post, no more play dates where you bond with other parents. (How to cope with parental loneliness) Now, it’s late-night worry, mental health appointments, slammed doors, and the hope that they’ll one day understand how hard you fought to stay present.

Your child may not say “thank you.” They may not express gratitude. But your consistency is building safety. Your love is making a difference—even when it doesn’t feel like it.

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A Few Gentle Reminders for the Road

• Not every battle is worth your energy. Some days, choose peace over perfection.
  
• You can say “no” and still be a loving parent. Boundaries are not rejection—they’re safety.
  
• You don’t have to have it all together. Your vulnerability teaches them more than your strength ever could.
  
• It’s okay to pause. (Signs of parental burnout and how to recover) You don’t need to pour from an empty soul.
  
• You’re allowed to grieve the child they were while learning to love the teen they are.
  

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In the End…

Your teen may not remember every lecture or every rule—but they will remember that you stayed. That you tried. That even when they pulled away, you were still there, in the kitchen, on the couch, in the stands, waiting with open arms.

Parenting in 2025 is not for the faint of heart—but neither is the love that carries you through it.

And if all you did today was love them through the chaos?

That was more than enough.

  A mother’s grief for the child still living—but just out of reach.

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They say I don’t know what it means to lose a child.
And in the way they mean it, maybe I don’t.
You’re still alive.
Still breathing somewhere beneath this sky.

But you’re not here.
And for me, that’s a loss I carry every day.

You were 18 months old the last time I held you without needing permission.
The last time your fingers curled around mine like they trusted I’d always be there.
And then, just like that, you were gone.

Not buried.
Not taken by accident or illness.
But taken just the same.

And ever since, I’ve lived inside a grief the world doesn’t make room for.
( Mental Health Support (Grief Counseling, Non-Death Loss) https://childmind.org/article/grieving-a-child-who-is-still-alive/) 

Because how do you mourn a child who still has a heartbeat…
but no longer has a place in your life?
What do you call a love that keeps growing even when the connection is severed?
Where do you go with all the birthdays, holidays, and ordinary days that pass without you in them?

I’ve had to investigate—just to know if you were okay.
I’ve searched for traces of you like a detective searching for light in the dark.
Just to know if you were safe.
If you were even still in the same country.

And still, I was told:
“At least she’s alive.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t bury her.”

And yes—I am grateful you’re alive.
But don’t mistake that for peace.

Because I’ve mourned you a thousand times over—
on days your name wasn’t spoken.
on nights I tried to remember the sound of your baby laugh.
on mornings I wondered if you still had the same eyes.
I’ve grieved you in grocery aisles, in dreams, in photos I had to stop keeping.

I’ve celebrated your birthdays in silence.
(Support for Noncustodial Parents / Resources https://www.fatherly.com/love-money/noncustodial-parent-guide )

Sent love across the air like prayers no one could intercept.
And told your sisters about you when they asked why your picture was always near.

I may not have tucked you into bed,
but I’ve tucked your memory into every part of me.

I may not know your favorite color,
but I remember the shape of your hands.
I remember the way you looked at me like I was your whole world—before someone decided I didn’t deserve to be in yours.

(Parental Alienation Awareness https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/co-parenting-after-divorce/202005/what-is-parental-alienation ) 

This isn’t the kind of grief people understand.
(Mother’s Grief / Living Loss Communities https://www.optionb.org/build-resilience/grieving-the-loss-of-a-living-child )

It doesn’t come with flowers or funerals or casseroles.
It comes with silence.
Judgment.
Misunderstanding.

And still—I have loved you through all of it.
Through every moment I wasn’t there.
Through every milestone I missed.
Through every whisper of “mama” that might’ve belonged to someone else.

They may never understand.
But I don’t need them to.
Because I know what I lost.
And I know what I gave.

You grew up without me.
But not without my love.

For my daughter, Elysha Nicole.

You may never know how many quiet ways I’ve loved you across the years, or how many nights I’ve whispered your name like a prayer. But you have always been carried in my spirit, wrapped in a love that distance couldn’t erase. Wherever you are, may you always feel that love surrounding you.

— Juju Divine Empress

Read more personal pieces like this in our Stories from the Path series.

🌿 Stories from the Path by JBE Mindful Pathways

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They told us self-love was pretty. That it looked like rose baths, glowing skin, and a tidy morning routine with a matcha latte in hand.

Scroll through your timeline and you’ll find someone smiling through a “healing era,” someone swearing by a single moon ritual, someone else preaching that once you raise your vibration, everything will magically align. We believed them. Not because we were naïve—but because we were desperate for peace.

But the truth is… self-love is not a trend. It’s a war. A tender, brutal, slow, sacred war against everything you were taught to believe about your worth.

What they don’t tell you is this:

Self-love is grief.
Self-love is confrontation.
Self-love is peeling back layers of yourself that you used to hide behind, only to realize you’re not sure who’s underneath.

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The Sacred, Messy Middle (Defined)

There’s a space between your breakdown and your breakthrough that no one warns you about.
It’s not the beginning—where you’re shocked by your own pain.
It’s not the end—where you’ve made peace.
It’s the middle—where you’re trying to hold yourself together with threads of grace and grit.

In the sacred, messy middle, you’ll experience moments like:

• Feeling deeply lonely but not wanting anyone to disturb your peace
  
• Wanting love but fearing the cost of letting someone in again
  
• Being proud of your growth, but still triggered by the same old patterns
  
• Mourning who you used to be, even if she was hurting
  
• Feeling invisible even while you’re finally speaking your truth
  
• Outgrowing your environment but not knowing where you belong now
  
• Missing people who hurt you—but knowing you can’t go back
  
• Sitting in your parked car for 10 minutes before walking into work, breathing through anxiety
  
• Opening your laundry basket, promising you’ll fold it, then walking away—again
  
• Making dinner for your kids but crying in the bathroom before bedtime
  
• Posting something positive online while privately struggling to believe it applies to you
  

It’s the space where you show up in fragments—and somehow, those fragments are still enough.
You’re not broken—you’re in the thick of becoming. And it’s messy. But that mess is sacred.

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What Social Media and Spiritual Influencers Don’t Show You

Let’s be real:
We’ve been lied to.

The perfectly curated world of Instagram aesthetics, Pinterest affirmations, TikTok healing hacks, and even spiritual influencers and tarot readers make it seem like healing is as easy as lighting a candle and repeating a mantra.

But they don’t show you what healing really looks like:

• Setting a boundary and panicking after
  
• Trying to function while unlearning survival mode
  
• Breaking down after a “setback”
  
• Feeling rage over how long you accepted less
  
• Meditating daily—because if you don’t, you’ll spiral
  
• Pulling an affirmation card and still crying before noon
  
• Journaling beautifully but lying awake all night
  
• Feeling guilty for choosing yourself
  
• Being “woke” but still wounded
  

They show the glow-up, not the grief.
But that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.

Healing isn’t linear.
Growth isn’t glamorous.
And self-love isn’t always gentle.

You can burn sage, pull cards, and still cry yourself to sleep.
You can sip herbal tea and still feel like you’re failing.
You can affirm your worth—and still have days where you don’t want to get out of bed.

And that’s okay.
That is self-love.
The version nobody talks about.

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What They Don’t Teach You About Self-Love

They don’t teach you that:

• Sometimes choosing yourself means losing others
  
• You’ll second-guess your own boundaries because no one claps for them
  
• You might heal faster than the people you love—and it will hurt
  
• You’ll crave connection but fear repeating old wounds
  
• The softest version of you might feel the most exposed
  
• Some days, brushing your teeth is the biggest act of love you’ll manage—and that’s still valid
  
• Self-love means doing the laundry… and being okay if you never folded it
  
• Cooking but not cleaning the kitchen is still something to be proud of
  
• Making a to-do list and only checking one thing off is enough
  
• Sitting on the couch all day after a long emotional week is progress
  
• Wanting to parent your kids with grace but not having the emotional bandwidth still makes you a good mother
  

Self-love is not a perfect version of you showing up.
It’s you, as you are—imperfect and trying—still showing up.

They don’t teach you that you’ll have to love yourself even when you don’t like yourself.

But the middle is where you become.
Not perfect. Not polished. Just… honest.

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How to Keep Going (Even Here)

You don’t need to force joy.
You don’t need to fake energy.
You don’t need a new ritual.
You don’t need to force positivity.

You just need to keep choosing yourself—one honest moment at a time.
And keep showing up—even imperfectly.

Here are a few soul practices to honor your sacred middle:

• Pause instead of punishing yourself. Feel the emotion before you fix it.
  
• Write letters to your younger self. Tell her she deserved better—and still does.
  
• Move your body to release, not to perform.
  
• Speak your truth, even if your voice shakes. Especially then.
  
• Lay in bed for a full day, then wake up tomorrow and try again
  
• Listen to your body’s needs, even when they don’t match your planner
  
• Ask for help, even when your voice shakes
  
• Let the dishes sit in the sink, and call that okay
  
• Unfollow toxic positivity and let your healing be real, messy, and yours
  
• Wear the same clothes two days in a row, but still say “I love me” in the mirror
  
• Take a nap instead of writing in your journal—because rest is medicine too
  

You are not less than because your healing doesn’t look like a highlight reel.

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Final Reflection

Self-love isn’t a final destination—it’s a living relationship with yourself.
It won’t always feel good, and that’s what makes it sacred.

Self-love isn’t a perfect glow.
It’s a dim light you protect in the dark.
It’s holding your own hand when no one else does.
It’s the sacred act of surviving a moment you thought would break you.
It’s crying on your bathroom floor—and still brushing your teeth after.
It’s feeling like a mess—and still choosing to be kind to yourself.
It’s knowing you’re still worthy—even in the dark.

If all you did today was survive—you’ve done enough.
If you only made it halfway through your healing—that still counts.
If you’re showing up in fragments—those fragments are still beautiful.

“Healing doesn’t always bloom in the spotlight.
Sometimes, it grows quietly in the messy middle—
where you learn to be your own safe place.”

So to the ones who:

• Got out of bed but didn’t go far
  
• Made it to work with a lump in their throat
  
• Held their child while secretly falling apart
  
• Did one small thing today and still felt like it wasn’t enough—
  

You don’t have to have it all figured out to be deserving of softness.
You don’t have to finish the healing to be worthy of love.

Just breathe. That’s enough.
This middle part? It’s not failure.

It’s becoming.
It’s sacred.
It’s yours.

This is your reminder:
You are doing sacred work.
Even in the mess.
Especially in the middle.

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From Me to You

If no one told you today—I see you.
Not the polished version. Not the curated one.
I see the you who’s still showing up, even when it’s hard.
The you who’s learning to be gentle with yourself in ways no one taught you.

If your healing doesn’t look like theirs, that’s okay.
If you’re doing it in pieces, you’re still doing it.
And that matters. You matter.

With grace, grit, and a love that refuses to quit—
Keep showing up. Even when it feels like no one’s watching.
Your presence is powerful. Your love is building something they’ll one day thank you for.

From one soul in the middle to another—
With strength and softness,
~ Juju Divine Empress
Founder, JBE Mindful Pathways
Wellness Advocate | Writer | Mother | Still Learning, Always Loving